Colby rolled his way into therapy much easier than he had maneuvered the wheelchair earlier in the week. Getting used to a bulky wheelchair wasn’t easy, but he managed well in the wide halls following the glass doors.
Ahh, Colby Dickens, right? The room was empty of people, except for Colby and the receptionist. He eyed her from chest up, that being all he could see across the polished desk. Her button-up shirt wasn’t buttoned all the way, and the thin, white undershirt was the only thing keeping her cleavage from peeking out. A few strands of blonde hair fell out of place as she looked up, partially covering one of two beautifully resilient blue eyes. She smiled quaintly.
“Yea, are you Amanda?” he replied. His gaze was locked by her infectious eyes. All he wanted to say was lost. He forgot how badly he wanted to be fixed, how badly he wanted to be an able body again. His eyes outlined her image, tracing some soft dirty-blonde hair down her cheek, the rigid stop where her jaw ended, following her jaw line clear to her chin. Her skin looked so soft, a slightly darker mole was the only thing interrupting the landscape he was following. Her skin reminded him of what a timothy field looked like as he was flying overhead, same color and consistency throughout her complexion. His eyes followed her lip line. No lipstick, he thought, and proceeded to venture south with his eyes. He sat there, motionless as she stood. He sat still as she approached him, almost forgetting to offer his hand out for a friendly handshake.
“I am. I hear you got yourself in quite an accident, that’s unfortunate.” She said, referencing that she actually did a little homework. Colby was amused at catching the fact.
“Mmm. Lucky for you!” He meant it as to say she was getting business out of the deal, but the tone suggested more of a conceited innuendo, more to the tone that he was lucky that she was his therapist.
She curled one end of her lips up. “And unfortunate for you.” She turned away as the other half of her lips to complete a full-fledged smile. “Okay, we don’t have a lot to do today; usually I get to know my patients, as a way of developing the best plan for them. What do you think you want?”
Colby’s mind turned in thoughts. He knew what he wanted right now. It took a moment to get back to recovery. “I want…” His eyes took on a new shine and he began to smile. “I want what every other guy wants when they come in here!”
“Okay. There are several approaches to this. We have to start slowly, build you into a routine. After that, we can push it to the limit, or we can move on steadily. The faster we go, the more stress and exhaustion you will experience, also more risk. Which do you choose?” That tuft of hair fell back down, and she brushed it away carelessly with the slight of her hand.
Colby looked around the room. He saw the weight equipment and some odd structures, wondering what they were for, and if he was going to use them. Posters covered some of the white walls, some talking of courage and some talking of perseverance, along with some others that were harder to read. “I will take the fast way,” he replied, staring now at a large bench towards the corner.
“Okay, the first thing we are going to focus on is your upper body strength. It should improve your lung function along with cardiovascular output. We can’t do much of anything in your lower body, not until the doctor advises it.” She eyed Colby now, noticing that he was looking around the room. “Would you like to start off easily today?”
He snapped out of his daydream and stiffened in his chair. “uhh, uhh…” He stumbled, trying to remember what she said. “Yea, sure.” He didn’t know exactly what he was agreeing to, but her body language suggested that it was a good answer.
“Okay,” she smiled and scribbled something down on paper. She got up from her desk one more time. “If you will just come over here, we can get started. First, push-ups!”
“You first, show me!” Colby replied, taking the comment as a humerous gesture, not letting it ruin his good mood. And she laughed. Colby got his first look at an astonishing contrast between her dark pink lips and her polished white teeth. One was a little crooked, but he wanted to see more smile on this one.
She picked up two ten pound free-weights. “Hold these and oscillate repetitions, one with your right arm, and one with your left. Do it until you start to feel the burn, okay?”
“…Colby?” Again, he had to jerk his mind out of another daydream. He cursed his boneheadedness as he realized she was holding the weights at him.
“Oh, sorry. I was just admiring, uhh, your poster there.”
“Oh? Which one?”
“That one, with the golf course on it.”
“I love that one, so simple, but true. Dreamers and visionaries are very different things, you know.”
“Actually, I do. Dreamers are useless. If you want it, go the hell out an’ get it!” Colby replied, without thinking.
“Well, sometimes we can’t have just what we dream about, you know.”
The workout went smoothly after that and a half an hour later, Avery was back, and Colby was gone. Amanda went back to her desk. She should have gone home, but there was more here to think about than there was for stuff to do at her apartment. She turned off the main lights, and the lamp on her desk threw a dim light that was incompatible with the overcast cloudy light coming in from the front windows, it hurt her eyes. So she grabbed her overcoat and went out the door.
“You met with the Dickens boy today, he still all fucked up?” Amanda’s husband, John piped up. The stench of a redemption center was heavy in the apartment, the sink was half full of empties. The other half sat on the coffee table, some tipped over and still dripping alcohol on her carpet.
She went upstairs immediately. He would have followed immediately, but the floor was floating, and the stairs were moving, he sat back down as immediately as he got up. “Don’t walk by me, I asked you a god damned question! Get back here!”
The bedroom door slammed and locked behind her. His tantrum was muffled now, but remained audible for the next few minutes. A hot shower later, and it was all quiet again. Amanda sprawled out naked on her bed, then hid herself under the blankets, smiling.
Friday, March 12, 2010
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Part 5: Long Road to Recovery
It was a full month before he was released from the hospital. One month shifting in and out of consciousness, being welcomed by the same damn scenery. One month of lying in a hospital bed. One month of nothing. The two surgeries that followed his transfer left him with screws and rods in his legs. “They will help the healing process,” doctors told his parents just before the final decision.
By the time he was released from the hospital and started therapy, the final verdict wasn’t whether he would walk again or not, the question had shifted to when he would have that ability. One doctor would say it would take a year to regain full flexibility and strength in either leg, while another argued that it might take even longer given the complexity of the breaks and the state of his lower sciatic nerve.
As if Colby cared. He just wanted to get better, determined to make it to the U.S. Amateur Championships in August; now just seven months away. He had made a great impression to get that far, and his invitation was not one that could be renewed. This was his golden ticket into the golf world, a ticket that he was sure would buy his way into the world he had been subliminally working himself into since he swung his first club, since he first fell into his loving obsession with a game that would bite him at times, then turn around and hoist him up onto a pedestal other times.
It seemed miles away, being refined to the restrictions of a wheelchair. Everything was a chore, from getting in and out of his mother’s car to simply making a sandwich or trying to clean up after himself at home. Work was impossible. He prided himself in his work, as a hard worker, always on the go. Now, even going was even difficult.
“You ready to meet your therapist tomorrow?” Bruce said over his coffee cup, hearing the banging of a beginner in a wheelchair maneuvering down the hall, swearing intermittently.
“I guess so. Long as she is hot an’ helpful!” Colby said with a smirk after successfully making his way down the hallway, finding his breakfast waiting for him beside his own hot cup of coffee. His father glared at him through a light steam as his own cup neared his lips.
“Colby, do you want milk or water?” His mother asked, trying to cut the tension. He hadn’t lived at home since his argument with his father shortly after high school. His father didn’t respect the way Colby’s decisions affected the morality of the household, causing tension that resulted in Colby moving. It left the house bare of life during the week, with only one soul, Avery, to bear the responsibilities of a homeowner throughout most weeks.
“I’m all set,” Colby said quickly. “Thank you.”
“So you going to work today?” Colby asked in between bites of toast soaked in egg yolk. His father nodded as he pushed more hash on his fork with a piece of toast and shoveled it in. Bacon grease escaped his lips, coating his beard giving the dark brown hair a sebaceous shine. Bits of bread and potato were stuck to the corners of his mouth as he continued to devour the last of his breakfast. The smell of body odor and sex was heavy on that side of the table.
Bruce got up as he laid the fork down and headed for the stairs to fill the woodstove before he left. He came back up bearing his wool, a thick, red wool shirt whose attraction was interrupted by a dark pair of thick wool pants and a dirty pair of chaps. His orange helmet was to his side. He put his hand on Colby’s shoulder and wished him good luck through the week, not breaking stride towards his wife, intent on kissing her one more time before he went out the door.
“Looks like it is us for the week, kid,” Avery said, cleaning the table off and wiping down where Bruce sat with a wet rag. She smiled to the thought of it being the same way it had been a couple of years ago. “So when did you guys clean out my apartment?” Colby asked, now sitting back in his chair and digesting his meal.
“Your father came back from the hospital about two weeks after you got transferred and took care of it. He talked to your landlord and got your contract cancelled, so you wouldn’t be charged.”
Something felt different about Avery this morning. Her long, brown hair looked as if it was dancing along daintily behind her as she walked to and fro. Her hands worked smoothly at the plates in the dishwater, as if she wasn’t scrubbing the plates, but rubbing them softly, gently. When she looked at Colby, her eyes told a coy story, one different than the one they usually depicted, a life resigned to mediocrity.
Avery’s parents told her long ago that Bruce was trouble. They told her repeatedly that he was what was left at the bottom of the barrel, after the barrel was emptied. “There isn’t a brain to be had in that thick skull,” her father told her, sticking his thumb at the closed front door and down the walkway, directly at Bruce’s clanking pickup, idling too high and rattling, waiting for his date to exit.
“At least he didn’t try sticking his nose up your ass trying to tickle your fancy when I brought him, like everyone you say is right for me!”
“I won’t have you ruining your life settling for less than mediocrity!” He shot those words back at his teary-eyed daughter.
Avery stormed out of the hall, acting as if she were going to her room, but instead sneaking out the back door and running up the concrete pads to Bruce.
They got married six months later, just out of high school. They had their first child in another three months, and Avery’s fate was sealed to the man.
By the time he was released from the hospital and started therapy, the final verdict wasn’t whether he would walk again or not, the question had shifted to when he would have that ability. One doctor would say it would take a year to regain full flexibility and strength in either leg, while another argued that it might take even longer given the complexity of the breaks and the state of his lower sciatic nerve.
As if Colby cared. He just wanted to get better, determined to make it to the U.S. Amateur Championships in August; now just seven months away. He had made a great impression to get that far, and his invitation was not one that could be renewed. This was his golden ticket into the golf world, a ticket that he was sure would buy his way into the world he had been subliminally working himself into since he swung his first club, since he first fell into his loving obsession with a game that would bite him at times, then turn around and hoist him up onto a pedestal other times.
It seemed miles away, being refined to the restrictions of a wheelchair. Everything was a chore, from getting in and out of his mother’s car to simply making a sandwich or trying to clean up after himself at home. Work was impossible. He prided himself in his work, as a hard worker, always on the go. Now, even going was even difficult.
“You ready to meet your therapist tomorrow?” Bruce said over his coffee cup, hearing the banging of a beginner in a wheelchair maneuvering down the hall, swearing intermittently.
“I guess so. Long as she is hot an’ helpful!” Colby said with a smirk after successfully making his way down the hallway, finding his breakfast waiting for him beside his own hot cup of coffee. His father glared at him through a light steam as his own cup neared his lips.
“Colby, do you want milk or water?” His mother asked, trying to cut the tension. He hadn’t lived at home since his argument with his father shortly after high school. His father didn’t respect the way Colby’s decisions affected the morality of the household, causing tension that resulted in Colby moving. It left the house bare of life during the week, with only one soul, Avery, to bear the responsibilities of a homeowner throughout most weeks.
“I’m all set,” Colby said quickly. “Thank you.”
“So you going to work today?” Colby asked in between bites of toast soaked in egg yolk. His father nodded as he pushed more hash on his fork with a piece of toast and shoveled it in. Bacon grease escaped his lips, coating his beard giving the dark brown hair a sebaceous shine. Bits of bread and potato were stuck to the corners of his mouth as he continued to devour the last of his breakfast. The smell of body odor and sex was heavy on that side of the table.
Bruce got up as he laid the fork down and headed for the stairs to fill the woodstove before he left. He came back up bearing his wool, a thick, red wool shirt whose attraction was interrupted by a dark pair of thick wool pants and a dirty pair of chaps. His orange helmet was to his side. He put his hand on Colby’s shoulder and wished him good luck through the week, not breaking stride towards his wife, intent on kissing her one more time before he went out the door.
“Looks like it is us for the week, kid,” Avery said, cleaning the table off and wiping down where Bruce sat with a wet rag. She smiled to the thought of it being the same way it had been a couple of years ago. “So when did you guys clean out my apartment?” Colby asked, now sitting back in his chair and digesting his meal.
“Your father came back from the hospital about two weeks after you got transferred and took care of it. He talked to your landlord and got your contract cancelled, so you wouldn’t be charged.”
Something felt different about Avery this morning. Her long, brown hair looked as if it was dancing along daintily behind her as she walked to and fro. Her hands worked smoothly at the plates in the dishwater, as if she wasn’t scrubbing the plates, but rubbing them softly, gently. When she looked at Colby, her eyes told a coy story, one different than the one they usually depicted, a life resigned to mediocrity.
Avery’s parents told her long ago that Bruce was trouble. They told her repeatedly that he was what was left at the bottom of the barrel, after the barrel was emptied. “There isn’t a brain to be had in that thick skull,” her father told her, sticking his thumb at the closed front door and down the walkway, directly at Bruce’s clanking pickup, idling too high and rattling, waiting for his date to exit.
“At least he didn’t try sticking his nose up your ass trying to tickle your fancy when I brought him, like everyone you say is right for me!”
“I won’t have you ruining your life settling for less than mediocrity!” He shot those words back at his teary-eyed daughter.
Avery stormed out of the hall, acting as if she were going to her room, but instead sneaking out the back door and running up the concrete pads to Bruce.
They got married six months later, just out of high school. They had their first child in another three months, and Avery’s fate was sealed to the man.
Monday, March 1, 2010
Part 4: Awakening to Reality
They waited longer after the transfer, but this time with higher hopes. When they arrived at Colby’s next hospital, they were greeted with a more comforting response. When they got situated and the doctor came to meet them, he was much more optimistic about Colby’s situation, even though it was still bad.
“He was surprisingly stable when he got here, they did a good job upstate, we expect that he will be awake soon,” the doctor started.
“Can we talk to him?” Avery asked quickly, peeking around the doctor, trying to get an idea of which room her son might be in.
“Of course. I am sure he will be glad to see all of you. It is reassuring to the patients when they are able to feel the love of their family, to feel their words and touch. I will notify you when we have him ready, and you can go in. There is still going to be at least one more surgery, but we have no definitive evidence upon his condition yet.” The doctor shook Bruce’s hand. “As soon as we have him ready, I will let you know.”
The morale of the three increased after the conversation. Their thoughts were not so much as to whether he would live or die now, but more directed towards his recovery, more towards helping Colby. They sat in the waiting room for less than an hour when a nurse came out.
“You must be Colby’s parents. He is ready, Doctor Corey asked me to come get you.” The nurse turned and guided them into his room.
There were still hoses running in and out of his Johnny. He had no mask on. There were still only two chairs in the room, but there was much more space here than in the Emergency room at the other hospital. Avery and Sami sat beside Colby. Bruce, again leaned against the doorway, still worried about the predicament his son was in.
There was a board next to Bruce, saying the nurse’s name. Charlotte was written in all capital letters, green marker. They were taking in the sights of the room and the scenery that the windows offered when Colby began to come to.
First, his grey world came to color, through the slit that his eyelids offered his eyes. He felt pain in his arms and chest. He could feel his mother’s warm hand around his own. He turned his head, enough to be noticed, although nobody noticed yet.
“Colby.” His father’s voice was recognized, deep, sincere. Worried. Sami and Avery both snapped their attention to Colby, realizing that he was awake.
“Hey baby,” Avery said, stroking his forehead with her free hand, wrapping it around his head as if to cradle it. The slight of her touch comforted him, raising a slight, upward curve on his right lip, but he remained silent, trying to connect the dots, trying to figure out where he was.
“Where. Am. I?” He offered, the whispery tone was hard to understand due to the phlegm buildup in the back of his throat.
It was silent for a few moments. Avery’s comforting eyes never wavered from her son’s stare, and Sami stroked his kneecap, forgetting what they had heard in the first hospital. Colby winced in great pain as he tried to get away from Sami’s touch. The movement caused more pain to run up his spine exponentially.
“Nurse! Ms. Charlotte!” Bruce’s voice shot down the hall as a nurse came out of the neighboring room and briskly came his way. “He is in pain!”
The nurse quickly came in, adjusted one of the suspended baggies, and motioned for Sami to move. “What happened?” She asked.
“He winced and tried to move! We don’t know,” Sami started to explain.
“When did he wince?” The nurse asked, looking at Avery.”
“We were just talking and –”
“Remember, when you touch him, be very, very gentle, he has broken bones and cuts and bruises all over his body. Try not to touch his abdomen or legs; they are pretty banged up, okay? He should be okay. He is back asleep for a while, I am sure he is exhausted. Why don’t you all try to get some rest? you look like you all got ran over.”
After Sami convinced Avery to go out for dinner, they returned to her house. Erin was there, thirsty to hear the news. She pulled Sami aside when they got there as Avery sat on the couch and covered up in the blanket that was thrown over it. She was asleep in moments, exhausted from this excruciating mother’s experience.
“Okay, I will tell you as long as you agree not to start anything this weekend,” Sami started after being drilled by Erin’s questions. “Colby was going back to his apartment from a day of skiing and hit a moose head-on. His car is totaled and his body isn’t far from. He has cuts and bruises. His legs are broke, and so is his lower back. He might be paralyzed.” Her voice wavered as tears introduced themselves, pooling in the bottom of her eyes, then, searing their way down her cheek before they were wiped away by Erin’s sleeve.
“Was he awake? Did you get to talk to him?” Erin asked.
“He was. Then he winced in pain when I touched his leg. It was terrible, I hurt him. I didn’t mean to!”
Erin wrapped Sami into her arms, stroking her short hair and whispering into her ear.
“On the bright side, he can feel his legs…” Erin said, realizing that fact, and smiling.
Bruce still stood, unwavering, looking at Colby. Several hours after the girls left, he finally sat beside Colby, intent on staying with his son, waiting to talk to him. Bruce had some things weighing on his mind, things that only Colby could hear.
“He was surprisingly stable when he got here, they did a good job upstate, we expect that he will be awake soon,” the doctor started.
“Can we talk to him?” Avery asked quickly, peeking around the doctor, trying to get an idea of which room her son might be in.
“Of course. I am sure he will be glad to see all of you. It is reassuring to the patients when they are able to feel the love of their family, to feel their words and touch. I will notify you when we have him ready, and you can go in. There is still going to be at least one more surgery, but we have no definitive evidence upon his condition yet.” The doctor shook Bruce’s hand. “As soon as we have him ready, I will let you know.”
The morale of the three increased after the conversation. Their thoughts were not so much as to whether he would live or die now, but more directed towards his recovery, more towards helping Colby. They sat in the waiting room for less than an hour when a nurse came out.
“You must be Colby’s parents. He is ready, Doctor Corey asked me to come get you.” The nurse turned and guided them into his room.
There were still hoses running in and out of his Johnny. He had no mask on. There were still only two chairs in the room, but there was much more space here than in the Emergency room at the other hospital. Avery and Sami sat beside Colby. Bruce, again leaned against the doorway, still worried about the predicament his son was in.
There was a board next to Bruce, saying the nurse’s name. Charlotte was written in all capital letters, green marker. They were taking in the sights of the room and the scenery that the windows offered when Colby began to come to.
First, his grey world came to color, through the slit that his eyelids offered his eyes. He felt pain in his arms and chest. He could feel his mother’s warm hand around his own. He turned his head, enough to be noticed, although nobody noticed yet.
“Colby.” His father’s voice was recognized, deep, sincere. Worried. Sami and Avery both snapped their attention to Colby, realizing that he was awake.
“Hey baby,” Avery said, stroking his forehead with her free hand, wrapping it around his head as if to cradle it. The slight of her touch comforted him, raising a slight, upward curve on his right lip, but he remained silent, trying to connect the dots, trying to figure out where he was.
“Where. Am. I?” He offered, the whispery tone was hard to understand due to the phlegm buildup in the back of his throat.
It was silent for a few moments. Avery’s comforting eyes never wavered from her son’s stare, and Sami stroked his kneecap, forgetting what they had heard in the first hospital. Colby winced in great pain as he tried to get away from Sami’s touch. The movement caused more pain to run up his spine exponentially.
“Nurse! Ms. Charlotte!” Bruce’s voice shot down the hall as a nurse came out of the neighboring room and briskly came his way. “He is in pain!”
The nurse quickly came in, adjusted one of the suspended baggies, and motioned for Sami to move. “What happened?” She asked.
“He winced and tried to move! We don’t know,” Sami started to explain.
“When did he wince?” The nurse asked, looking at Avery.”
“We were just talking and –”
“Remember, when you touch him, be very, very gentle, he has broken bones and cuts and bruises all over his body. Try not to touch his abdomen or legs; they are pretty banged up, okay? He should be okay. He is back asleep for a while, I am sure he is exhausted. Why don’t you all try to get some rest? you look like you all got ran over.”
After Sami convinced Avery to go out for dinner, they returned to her house. Erin was there, thirsty to hear the news. She pulled Sami aside when they got there as Avery sat on the couch and covered up in the blanket that was thrown over it. She was asleep in moments, exhausted from this excruciating mother’s experience.
“Okay, I will tell you as long as you agree not to start anything this weekend,” Sami started after being drilled by Erin’s questions. “Colby was going back to his apartment from a day of skiing and hit a moose head-on. His car is totaled and his body isn’t far from. He has cuts and bruises. His legs are broke, and so is his lower back. He might be paralyzed.” Her voice wavered as tears introduced themselves, pooling in the bottom of her eyes, then, searing their way down her cheek before they were wiped away by Erin’s sleeve.
“Was he awake? Did you get to talk to him?” Erin asked.
“He was. Then he winced in pain when I touched his leg. It was terrible, I hurt him. I didn’t mean to!”
Erin wrapped Sami into her arms, stroking her short hair and whispering into her ear.
“On the bright side, he can feel his legs…” Erin said, realizing that fact, and smiling.
Bruce still stood, unwavering, looking at Colby. Several hours after the girls left, he finally sat beside Colby, intent on staying with his son, waiting to talk to him. Bruce had some things weighing on his mind, things that only Colby could hear.
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